


more night for the sky

by civilsmile



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Undercover Role Requires Raping Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civilsmile/pseuds/civilsmile
Summary: They have something you want.





	more night for the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/gifts).



From the bloodstained bed, after some hours, Carolyn collected her like a child. _I'm so sorry you have to see this_ , Carolyn had said, before cradling Frank against her shoulder the way she held Eve now, and Eve knew she should be ashamed. Comfort, from Carolyn, was a gesture of contempt. Frank had been too frightened to refuse it. 

Eve was too tired. 

"It's not fair," she said into the silk of Carolyn's jacket. She'd buried a knife in the killer's guts, and her friend was still dead. "Bill wanted—he told me once that he said yes to everything. He wanted everything. He wanted to be a dad, and he's going to _miss_ it. Miss watching his baby grow up, miss knowing her." 

Carolyn patted her back. "It's a terrible shame." 

She hadn't slept since Moscow, not on the plane or at the airport hotel where she'd stashed her bag before hurrying here, running alone toward her enemy. Not in the ruin of Villanelle's bed, in the girl's cooling blood. 

"How did you find me?" 

Carolyn huffed softly. "You lied about the voicemail. There's one person who puts that look on your face, and it isn't Niko."

"Elena told you," Eve said.

"Elena trusts me." 

"The night she broke into my apartment," Eve said, "Villanelle asked me if I knew who I worked for. She said that if I went high enough, I'd find we worked for the same people. Was she right?"

"Come on, now," Carolyn said. She gave Eve another brisk, consolatory pat, and pushed her gently away. "Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

A cab took them back to Eve's hotel. In the small neat room, Eve folded herself into a chair, tucking her feet beneath her. Carolyn sat on the edge of the bed. 

"You'll sleep here tonight," Carolyn said, "and tomorrow you'll fly back to London and return to work."

Eve shook her head, uncomprehending. "You told us to pack up the London office."

"Yes," Carolyn said. "I was quite impossibly angry with you, if you must know. But you remember what Frank said. The Twelve want insiders, people who can tell them what conversations are being had. You lost your value when I fired you. I'm correcting that." 

"My value," Eve said. Her mind felt dull with exhaustion. Villanelle's scream still echoed in her ears. "Frank is dead."

"He is, poor man," Carolyn said. "And the Twelve will be looking to replace him." She slipped a hand into her jacket pocket, and set a flash drive on the table beside her. "You can give them that, to start. Enough verifiable information to prove you're useful, and a few plausible lies." 

Eve heard her own laugh from a distance, heavy with disbelief. "You want me feeding fake secrets to the Twelve? How can I, when _we don't know who they are?_ They approached Frank when his wife was dying. They'd have to come to _me_ , try to turn me the way they turned him—" 

She cut herself off. Carolyn held her gaze impassively. "You think they will," Eve said at last. "Why? Why me?" 

"They had something Frank wanted," Carolyn said. There was no judgment in her tone, no condemnation; only a steady statement of the facts. "Now they have something you want, too."

Slowly, Eve felt her cheeks grow warm. _I think about you all the time._ Everything she'd said to Villanelle had been the truth. _I think about what you're wearing, and what you're doing, and who you're doing it with. I think about your eyes, and your mouth…_ She wasn't going to play the fool. 

"Some _one_ , you mean," Eve said. 

* * *

Niko was gone when Eve got home, as she'd known he would be. _You're not saving the world, honeybunch. You're getting off on sniffing out a psycho._ At the heart of his fear for her, jealousy eating like a worm. She missed the home-cooked meals, and slept luxuriously in the center of the bed.

She went back to work, where there was no real work to do. Without Villanelle's stylish kills to draw them on, the team was left to comb through old cases, hunting for a pattern. Why a humanitarian worker one day, and a sex trafficker the next? _Chaos_ , Frank had whispered, his face tight with dread. _They're destabilizing from the ground up._

She waited a week, and then another, for something out of a spy movie to happen. A voice on the phone ordering her to appear at a certain time and place, insisting that she come alone. A black car pulling up beside her as she walked home one evening, the curb-side door opening silently to take her in. But it seemed that Carolyn was wrong. 

Or Villanelle was already dead.

* * *

The knock on her door, when it came, was perfectly ordinary. So was the face of the man who introduced himself, in lightly accented English, as Jerome.

"I'm sorry for the hour," he said, opening his jacket just enough to show the gun holstered at his hip. "May I come in?"

The street was dark. Eve's third glass of wine was in her hand. She stepped backward into the hall, and the man followed, shutting the door behind him. She thought of Villanelle saying, _Don't run_. Her own mad dash up the stairs, as though she could hide from the monster in a bathroom. 

"Here," she said, and led him to the kitchen, pulling back the chair where Villanelle had sat unarmed, smiling her small smile at the knife in Eve's fist. "Please sit." She took the other chair, caught in the echo of that night, and folded her hands on the table. She had been frightened then. She should, she supposed, be frightened now.

"I don't mean to alarm you," said the stranger with the gun. Jerome. He had a pleasant face, lightly creased with age and laughter. Thinning dark hair; a beard turning silver at the chin. His bright eyes studied her. "But then, I think, you are not alarmed."

"I think," Eve said, "you should tell me what you want."

He smiled at her, leaning back in his chair. "That wine you're drinking. Is there another glass?"

Beneath her dreamlike calm, impatience flickered. "No," Eve said. "You're not my guest." 

His smile widened, appreciative. He liked her boldness, Eve thought, her lack of concern. She filed the information away. "All right," he said. "Straight to business, then. I'm here, as perhaps you have gathered, on behalf of an organization called the Twelve." 

"A gang of murderers," Eve said.

"A group of influential people," Jerome said, "who like to understand the big picture, and who, accordingly, place great value on certain friendships. MSS, CIA, SVR. MI6. We don't ask anything compromising from our friends at these and similar agencies—nothing, you understand, that would damage a career or put a colleague at risk. We simply want an ear to the ground."

"Didn't they tell you?" Eve said. "Two of my colleagues are _dead_."

"Ah," Jerome said. "Frank Haleton, as you know, was a friend of ours. Unfortunately, this fact was discovered by your team, at which point Mr. Haleton became a liability. We prefer to keep our affairs private."

"And Bill?" She couldn't hide the pain in her voice.

Jerome's expression turned sober. "We wished Bill Pargrave no harm. The girl Villanelle acted on her own, and contrary to our orders. To our regret, it appears she can no longer be controlled. She killed the handler we sent to replace Konstantin Vasiliev. And then, of course, there was that deplorable and very public scene with the child. I had a hand in her training, along with Konstantin, and I hate to see her considerable talents go to waste. But she too, I'm afraid, has become a liability. Which brings us to the matter of what _you_ want." 

Eve felt the knife in her hand again. The sickening resistance as she slid it home. "She murdered my friend."

"I understand," Jerome said. He stood up from the table, setting the chair neatly back in place. "I have a car waiting outside. Would you care to come with me?"

* * *

There was a bloody furrow in the bruising on her cheek, as though someone had forgotten to remove a ring before striking her. Another blow had split her mouth. Against the pale skin of her belly, Eve's unfinished vengeance was a lurid scar. 

"I see I'm not the only one," Eve said, "who finds her irritating." In the car, with a murmured apology, Jerome had slipped a blindfold over her eyes. Untrained for this, Eve couldn't tell how long they drove; less than an hour, she thought, though it felt like five. When he helped her out, she had the sense that they were underground. She let him lead her up a flight of stairs, down a corridor, doors opening and closing behind them. "Here we are," he said at last, and spoke no word to stop her when she raised her hands to pull the cloth from her face. 

Jerome clicked his tongue against his teeth. "That one would try the patience of a saint." For a handful of seconds, Eve had struggled to take in her surroundings, knowing she should be cataloguing details. The room in which she found herself had the polished, impersonal charm of a hotel lounge: brown sofa and chairs, beige carpet, empty fireplace. Then a second door had opened, and Eve felt the breath leave her body as two armed guards entered, dragging Villanelle between them.

"What's wrong with her?" _They have something you want_ , Carolyn said, and Eve had blushed, picturing wide hazel eyes and insolent lips, the faint clean scent of expensive perfume. She'd imagined undressing the girl, baring her strong body as carefully as Villanelle had slipped the wet silk from Eve's back. _I won't look._ She had not imagined her like this: naked, on her knees, her hands bound behind her. An awful lack of expression on her upturned face. 

"Just a little shot to calm her down, boss," one of the guards said. "She gave us a fight."

Something twisted in Eve's stomach. For a moment, she thought it might be pity. 

Jerome freed the gun from his hip, and held it pointed at the floor. "I need hardly mention," he said, nodding to the guards, "that these gentlemen are prepared to stop you doing anything foolish." At last, Eve felt her heart speed up, her strange composure faltering. "However, in the spirit of friendship, permit me to extend a certain measure of trust."

"No," Villanelle said thickly. Her eyes were fastened on the drawn weapon. "Jerome, don't." 

"An eye for an eye, Eve Polastri," Jerome said. "That is our offer." Reversing his grip on the gun, he held it out to her. "Take it, and finish what you started." 

_They have something you want._ Was this all Carolyn had meant? An act as simple, as forgivable as this? Slowly, Eve closed her hand around the gun. Villanelle had told her handlers, it seemed, no more than Eve told Carolyn, and kept the same secret: Eve's frantic hands covering the wound, her rush to the kitchen for a cloth, a towel, anything to stop the blood. _Hold on! Hold on._ Not mercy, or conscience, but a revelation. Dead, the girl would be forever beyond her reach.

No wonder they thought they knew her; no wonder they thought they could use her. Revenge was an ancient story. They'd brought her here expecting murder, knowing it would break her, believing it would make her theirs. And if she demurred? Then Jerome had made a mistake, and would fix it. No one knew where she was. No help was coming. She would leave this room a creature of the Twelve, Eve thought, bound to them by blood and shame and twisted satisfaction, or not at all.

She stepped forward until she stood before the naked girl, looking down into her drugged and empty eyes. Carefully, Eve rested the gun against her forehead. _Sorry, baby. But I'm going to get us out alive._

"Do you remember," Eve said, "what I promised you?"

Villanelle said nothing. 

"Think," Eve said. "You'd broken into my house, and were holding a knife to my throat." 

Villanelle shook her head minutely, breathing, Eve thought, as shallowly as she herself had dared to breathe that night against the blade. 

"I told you," Eve said. "I am going to find the thing you care about, and I am going to _kill_ it."

A chill crept down her spine at Villanelle's slow smile. "You can't," she said.

"I can," Eve said. "Because it's me, isn't it? Or rather, an idea of me. How did you put it?" As if she could forget. "Someone to watch movies with." Keeping her movements slow, not wanting to spook the guards, Eve knelt, bringing herself face to face with her enemy. She set the gun on the floor, and raised both hands to cup Villanelle's wounded face. 

"I know what I'm doing," Eve said, and kissed her.

When she pulled back, she could taste the girl's blood in her mouth. Her split lip had opened again. Villanelle was staring at her wide-eyed. "No," she whispered. "Not like this." 

Eve leaned in close, inhaling the scent of her skin. "Exactly like this." She kissed the girl's neck, sweetly at first, then harder, sucking, biting down until Villanelle let out a small, involuntary gasp. Satisfied, Eve licked over the livid mark. "When they brought you in here," Eve said, "and I saw what they'd done, I thought I felt sorry for you. Can you imagine?"

"No," Villanelle said. She turned her head away, long hair falling in her face. Tenderly, Eve smoothed it back behind her ear. 

"No," Eve said. "Of course not. It wasn't the bruises; it was that someone else had put them there." She bent to kiss Villanelle's breast, teasing the nipple with her tongue before scraping it stingingly between her teeth. Again, soft and sharp, pleasure and pain. Villanelle moaned. 

"You see," one of the guards said to the other, a leer in his voice. "I told you, she warms up fast." 

Eve fought the urge to pick up the gun. "Is he right?" she asked instead. "Is that all it takes to get you wet for me?" She slipped two fingers into her own mouth, trusting that the girl would bite, and drew them out glistening. "Spread your legs." 

Villanelle didn't move. Eve reached down, and set her fingers against the angry scar in the girl's belly. "Don't make me force you." Villanelle shivered under her touch. Steeling herself for cruelty, Eve pressed hard.

Villanelle screamed, and jerked away. The guard who had spoken caught her by the shoulder, arresting the movement. Eve brought her hand to the girl's stomach again, stopping just short of touching her as Villanelle cringed in fear. "I said, spread your legs." 

Awkwardly, Villanelle shuffled her knees apart. _An eye for an eye_ , Eve thought. It was what they understood. She stroked the girl's cunt firmly, and found it slick. 

"You little whore," Eve said, surprised. "Though it must be easier that way, when you spend half your life in prison. How long did it take, before you learned to get wet for anyone who wants you?" 

Villanelle let her head fall forward, hiding her face against Eve's shoulder. Eve circled her thumb in a slow grind over her clit, and buried both fingers inside her. "You said you masturbated about me," Eve said. "Remember? You said you did it a _lot_. Did you want it like this? On your knees, your hands tied, my fingers splitting you open?"

"No," Villanelle said. "Don't." 

"Don't what? Don't _stop?_ Or don't make you tell me how you pictured me, when you touched yourself?" Eve pulled her hand away roughly, making Villanelle flinch again, and pushed her back far enough to wipe her fingers over the girl's swollen mouth. "But I don't want to stop," Eve said, and picked up the gun. "And I do want to know." 

She felt the guards come to attention, watchful now she held the weapon. She turned a little to one side, awkward on her knees as Villanelle had been, and reached up to tangle her other hand in the girl's hair. "Come here," she said, to warn her, and pulled down hard. Without her hands for balance, Villanelle fell heavily, folding forward over Eve's lap. Holding her head inches from the floor, Eve pressed the gun to her lips. "Suck." 

To Eve's relief, Villanelle opened her mouth. It was hideously easy to press the gun inside. "Did you picture _this?"_ Villanelle gagged, a wet pained sound, and Eve backed off a little, chagrined. She hadn't meant to choke her. 

"I thought about kissing you," Villanelle said dully, when Eve pulled the gun from her mouth. "I thought about that night in your kitchen. I helped you out of your dress, and you weren't scared of me. I kissed my way up your spine, and wrapped my arms around you. You were shaking. I held you until you stopped." Eve tightened her grip on Villanelle's hair, and moved her hand with the gun until it rested against the girl's wet cunt. "You turned around to face me," Villanelle said, as the first inch of it sank inside. "You reached up to untie my hair, and shook it loose, and I held very still, waiting to see what you would do. Then you kissed me back." 

"What else," Eve said. 

"I thought about you coming for me," Villanelle said. "My first night back in the Hole." Eve pressed the barrel deeper, tearing a hurt noise from her throat. "I screamed, and beat on the door, until my hands bled. It was like time collapsed, and I never left. I was still there; I was _always_ there." She whimpered again as Eve pulled the gun out, and shuddered as she forced it back in, hard, as far as it would go. "Then I heard a key in the lock, and the door opened, and it was you. You said, _I found you_."

"What else."

"I thought," Villanelle said, and Eve felt the girl wince as she drove home another vicious thrust. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

Eve stopped moving, the unyielding metal of the gun buried obscenely in the girl's trembling body. No one spoke. In the silence, the click as she slid the safety off seemed loud. 

"Your employers brought me here to kill you," Eve said. 

" _Don't_ ," Villanelle said, and Eve heard the animal fear in her voice. "You don't have to."

"They think you can't be controlled." 

"I'm sorry," Villanelle said, and Eve felt rage wash through her at the lie. She shoved the gun brutally deeper into the girl's cunt, not performing, intending only to hurt. Villanelle cried out in pain. 

"Don't you dare," Eve said. "I already told you, _I know what you are_." A thing like Villanelle couldn't feel remorse. They both knew it. 

Villanelle drew a sobbing breath, and said nothing. Sick at heart, Eve eased the gun free, trying not to hear the girl's small, stifled sound of misery. She pushed Villanelle away, letting her fall clumsily to her side on the floor, and stood, turning to face Jerome. 

"I want her," Eve said. "Do you understand? A bullet in the head's too good for her."


End file.
